


Moments we share

by MeggiMed



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Family, Fluff and Angst, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-29
Updated: 2016-11-29
Packaged: 2018-09-03 03:24:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,644
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8694484
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MeggiMed/pseuds/MeggiMed
Summary: In the life of father and son, there are moments worth remembered.Filling prompts from Mirkwoodfamily tumblr.





	

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-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-

 

 

> _“Legolas thinks back fondly on the time he received his first bow.”_

“I cannot promise you it will not break.” His father said.

Like his mother’s that day, he thought.

“I cannot promise you it will protect you of being broken either.”

Like his mother that day, he thought.

“But I know it can help you become stronger and harder to break than any oaken bow in Arda.”

He outgrew the bow before it broke. But his father was right, as he often was.

An Age later, Arda had Thranduil’s tiny old bow to thank after all.

-/-/-/-/-

 

> _“Three times Thranduil braided Legolas’s hair, and one time Legolas braided his.”_

1.

“Oh _Elbereth_! Thranduil! What are you doing to our _son_?” The Queen’s cries alarmed every elves in the hall visiting the newborn princeling, but apparently did not touch the ears of her Husband the King. The seasoned king and warrior was just a new father, and in the eyes of his Silvan and older wife, was not much older than their two-month-old son in terms of mental maturity.

Indeed, the majestic figure of Thranduil was bended down over the beautifully carved wooden crib, but the face he was wearing was one of an elfling with a new toy rather than a father playing with his son. And by playing, the Queen saw, desperately, his beautiful clever long fingers messing with their son’s short dark hair. The child’s curls were not yet longer than her pinkie, but somehow her dear husband managed a little braid sticking out of his head top.

“There, so beautiful.” Thranduil threw his normal vigilance when surrounding with people outside of his family somewhere along the way to his baby, and could not bring himself to care about anything while cooing at the green eyes ( _his_ ) and the thick chestnut mass of hair ( _her_ ). “Don’t you think, Legolas?”

.

2.

“No, child. My silly Leafling.” He said, signed again, his hands skillfully fixing the little braid. _This is the thousand-and-first time_ , he could swear on his father’s name. “You are indeed my son, and your hair is beautiful. The hair was the first thing I noticed and then loved about your mother.”

He really hated mean kids. Especially when they picked up his son, who sadly could not even remember his mother’s hair colour.

.

3.

His heart almost broke that moment. It was overwhelming, even for an elven heart which had beaten thousands of years.

The sheer amount of pride was increadible itself. His heir, his son, his little baby had grown, had matured. His Little Leaf had become so strong that just yesterday, he slayed not only one, but three spiders, saving his comrades. That today, he officially become a fine warrior protecting his Kingdom.

He did not even know how his heart could endure the fear, the desperation and the immense sadness alongside the pride. He feared for his son as a father, like all parents and family of Greenwood the Great’s, now Mirkwood’s warriors. He desperated for unlike most of said parents and family, he did not have the luxury of not knowing fully what were waiting for the ellyn and ellyth he sent everyday in the South of their home forest. He felt sadness, because somehow he had failed as a king, and as a father, ( _and as a husband_ ), so that now he must send his own son into dangers and very likely, to death.

So yes, he was proud, but not a drop of pride of himself when he worked the warrior braid from Legolas’s dark locks.

.

+1.

_“Adar, I’m sorry.”_

His hair was pulled a bit. But he did not look up, and he said nothing.

_“The seagulls were just too strong.”_

There was pleading in the voice, and probably some tears. But he did not look up, and he said nothing.

_“I never wish to leave you, you know that, right? Ada?”_

The child was sobbing now. But he did not look up, and he said nothing.

_“There. It is beautiful now. Never as beautiful as the ones you often did for me, but your glorious hair is always more spendid than mine.”_

The voice had cleared, and get further away. But he did not look up, and he said nothing.

_“Goodbye, Ada. I love you.”_

But he did not look up. His eyes fixed on his hands on the table, and for a second, he thought he could read Galion’s writing on the report beneath.

And he said nothing.

-/-/-/-/-

 

> _“As his son neared his first year, Thranduil waited with some impatience for Legolas’s first word.”_

He supposed it ran in the family.

Oropher often told him about his first years. Elf children in Doriath were like all elflings, started their first “ada” and “nana” half an year after birth. But of course little Thranduil would like to show the world that he was his father’s son and inherited his mischief and stubbornness. He had needed four months to start scrawling, seven months to walk confidently (often into Thingol’s long robe) and nine months to climb Celeborn like a tree and to pull his silver hair. But he made his parents wait two entire years before granting them his first word.

So to say that Thranduil was impatient for his son first speaking, yes, especially now the elfling’s first birthday has drawn near, but not overly so.

Legolas was his son after all.

A shriek of laughter – one of an adult, light and bright as bell; one of a baby, little but precious – stopped short his musings. He looked at the adorable scene before him.

So Legolas had found Glorfindel again. The child had been as fascinated with the Imladris’s seneschal’s golden locks as he himself once was with Celeborn’s moonlight-coloured stream.

Suddenly an uneasy feeling crept up in his mind. He tensed at the parallel of memory. _Or a horrible foresight, that was more like it._

His wife shifted a bit beside him, and he felt her smile at his stiff shoulder. Her eyes never left their baby and the child’s new doting (and free) baby-sitter, but she always had the ability of reading his mind, even things like this.

“What is it, my King?” She was holding her laughter, he knew it. “Afraid your son’s first word would not be calling his father, but a Noldo’s name?”

_She was close_ , he thought, but if his son was anything like him…

“ _nom_ “

The royal Little Leaf grasped a handful of golden hair and put inside his mouth with enthusiasm, uncaring about Glorfindel’s playful protests. Then, with the best copy of Thranduil’s authority that an eleven-month-old elfling could perform, he declared happily.

“Pwetty-eff!”

_Legolas was truly his son, wasn’t he?_

Well, at least Galadriel approved his nickname for her husband, he thought, trying to calm his wife’s hysterical laughter. She did prefer _“Shiny-born”_ to Celeborn the Wise, after all.

-/-/-/-/-

 

> _“Legolas gets drunk on the Dorwinion; or the reverse, Legolas drinks Thranduil under the table.”_

“Why aren’t you drunk?” Grumbled Gimli for the sixty-fifth time in half a day. The hangover torturing him has probably made the dwarf desire to torture Legolas as well, thought the elf. He sat down once more beside his friend, gave him a potent dose of herbal drink.

“It helps, I believe.” Legolas shook his head. “We elves have more resistance against alcohol than Durin’s folk.” Chided he gently, still patient as ever. “I believe, friend, that I have warned you last night, before you decided to engage in a drinking game with the lady Galadriel and her Kingly golden brother. A brave move, but no less foolish one, given that the wine you emptied goblet after goblet was brewed in Valinor, where the brother and sister were born and grew up many Ages ago.”

“My father has told me about your elves’ endurance for wine, laddie.” Laughed Gimli, calmly accepted Legolas’s invitation to lay his white head on the elf’s thigh, let the nimble fingers massaged his temples. “How do you think Thorin Oakenshield’s company escaped your father’s dungeons, even now that we know about Bilbo’s invisibility?”

“Ah, the Feast of Starlight!” Legolas exclaimed softly, closed his eyes in memories. “The biggest feast of the Woodland realm, of course we will be drunk! I do believe our dear butler Galion had emptied an entire barrel of Dorwinion before Master Hobbit could steal his keys.” He opened his eyes, looked down at Gimli with an endearing light reserved for his family. “But then, that is indeed true that I have more competence in drinking than most of my fellow elves. My Royal Father believe in Nurture before Nature, and he trained me right after my first birthday on that surviving skill, as he called it. He used to add a little wine in my water, and the more I grew, the less he watered it down.”

“Your King is truly as weird as Dwalin said, then. Who even gives wine to a baby?”

“Oh, my friend, he truly believed it would do me good. But let me tell you a secret, a most intimate one that if my father found out that you knew, he would sail here immediately and kick you out of Valinor himself!” Chuckled Legolas merrily. His expressions were slightly smug, but his cheeks were pink. “I beat him in the drinking game celebrating my fiftieth birthday, and in his intoxicated state he told me, mind you, I do not know it was indeed the truth or just his humourous self showing…”

The elf bent down, whispering in the dwarf’s ear, “He told me, if I can hold my wine, I would never spent my first marriage night being ravished by my spouse, however sweetly, in my own bedroom.”

‘ _Hmm, interesting.’_ Smiled Legolas with contentment. He had not known Gimli’s ears could be that brightly red.

.

+++ **+End** ~~~~+++


End file.
